


The Meaning of Flowers

by cadkitten



Category: MUCC
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-27
Updated: 2009-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-04 00:49:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spring is a time for all things to thrive, even love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Meaning of Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elfling_eryn](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=elfling_eryn).



> Comments: For **vk_springsmut**. For **elfling_eryn**.  
>  Far from my usual style, something that hit me due to the fact that the fics are for Spring. I worked it as best I could for the requests that my assignment had. I hope it is at worst - okay - and at best - seen as just as beautiful as I find it to be.  
> Beta Readers: sakuya_baby, witheringwhite, Callie  
> Song[s]: "空忘れ" by MUCC

Tatsuro's fingers moved almost reverently over his garden, body moving in time to a beat all his own, a light smile on his lips. The flowing tangle of petals and leaves spread out around him, a small path built simply for his body weaved among the layers of fragrant beauty. A daffodil there, red roses here, an entire patch of forget-me-nots off to one side - seeming anything but forgotten. Dahlias beside azaleas, entangled with batches of clover. Nothing in his garden made logical sense as to what it was paired next to or around; he simply planted whatever called to him, whatever felt right and asked him to be planted there. It always ranged and varied from year to year, never the same as he filled in the spots around the flowers that came back year after year.

Ambrosia bloomed happily right alongside lavender and a batch of thriving prickly pear cactus. And even there, his fingers would linger, taking care to remove the harmful white mold and clean it from the skin of his beauties, moving a worm here or a moth there. It was as if nature bowed to him, allowing him to move it into harmony, showing it where to thrive right alongside his precious creation.

Each day, he came to his haven, transplanting weeds and seedlings from one place to another, even allowing the weeds a designated area to thrive in. He fed each plant something special, something different and unique. Sometimes a mixture of plant food he'd found somewhere and sometimes simple things from his own kitchen. He found that just as humans, his plants enjoyed a variety of foods, some of them less conventional than others. But all the same, he would give whatever he was capable of to his garden, showing the plants the respect he would any fellow being. If they were sick, he'd tend to them day and night until they thrived once more. If they were happy, he'd come and sit with them, allowing the feelings to soak into his own body, filling him to bursting with the pure joy of it all.

Today, his plants were buzzing with something not quite happiness, but more base than that. His own body hummed with it as well, telling him not only of the impending showers, but of the arrival of someone new within his yard. At first, he thought it to be perhaps a new bug of some kind, or a foreign seed that had made its way in and had burrowed deep within his lovelies.

He paused, head tilted to the side as he listened, hearing past the birds and the hungry buzzing of the bees around his babies, beyond the low noise of the city moving around him. It was there that he heard it - the telltale signs of another human in his garden. There was no movement of feet, the person careful to not enter any further than the gate, which he'd left open, but the wood now creaked softly with the weight of someone resting on it. The breath of the other person tickled the senses of the entire garden, telling him the stories of how others had been there and trodden incorrectly in the past, of how this human had been there before and done nothing to harm them.

A gentle smile caressed his lips as he settled the water can down, having just finished with the last row in giving them their daily drink. "Miya." He did not need to turn around to tell who it was, to know the story the flowers were calling to him.

Tatsuro could hear the other draw in his breath to speak, expecting it before he heard the gentle timbre of the other's voice float to him across the expanse of yard that separated them. "You always know."

The flowers seemed to heave a collective sigh, as if telling him that this one would never understand them the way he did. His eyes scanned the colors and patterns of his collection, cooing softly to them before he rose to his feet, giving the branches of his cherry tree - the center piece of the array - a gentle caress. Stepping carefully out, he came to a rest a few paces away from the other man, hands spreading wide as if to indicate the world, when truly all he indicated was his own view. "They tell me. You tell me with your very presence."

Miya's thoughts centered on the other, on how this was one of the many reasons he'd come to treasure the other's presence in his life and band. So gentle and open was he, that the entire world poured themselves out to him; anything that lived and breathed gave him something more to work with, to draw upon. And even as he stood there before him as if he were the most innocent creature on Earth, Miya knew the truth that burned inside. And if he were asked and had to answer the question of if the plants knew... he'd tell that without a doubt they did. If anything, the plants were something to nurture Tatsuro in everything he ever did. They'd give to him color and mood, provide him with silken softness or the burn of something more. Some of his plants would soothe his throat floating within a tea or help him achieve another state entirely just with a single glance.

The guitarist watched as Tatsuro's hands fell from the air to come and rest upon his shoulders. "Tell me your reason."

A gentle smile curved Miya's lips as he guided Tatsuro from his garden and into his home. "I'd rather show you," he murmured as he pushed the door closed behind them, flicking the lock and finally withdrawing his hand from behind his back. He presented the other man with a small pot, a single yellow plant resting in the rich soil.

Tatsuro reached out, taking it from him and drawing it close, fingertips grazing yellow petals and leafy green in awe. "A camellia." His eyes shone brightly as he turned to place the flower on the table, arranging it in the center of the shimmering blue glass.

Miya's arms slipped around his waist, lips hovering just below the other's ear. "Longing," he whispered ever so softly, the word seeming to hang in the air between them. Almost delicately, his fingers slipped lower, teasing the waistband of Tatsuro's gray sweats. "Do you feel it?"

A low sigh and a light squeeze of fingers signified the agreement, showing that Tatsuro did know what the other had in mind. A smile danced over his lips and he laughed softly, the sound of it a gentle melody in the small room as he spun from his lover's grasp, fairly dancing along the halls to his room.

Miya followed, his steps sure and careful, avoiding having an incident with any of the potted indoor plants that resided in the other's home. He'd never been fool enough to bump into a plant or knock one over... or worse, crush it. Others he knew of that had... well, those encounters had not ended well for neither the plant nor the person.

Arriving at the bedroom, he paused in the doorway, watching the vocalist as he rid himself of the clothing he'd been wearing, fingers peeling layers from his skin as if he were a blooming flower himself. Everything Tatsuro did had some undertone of his happiness with the plants he so cared about. In a way, it was that fact that drew the guitarist in, pulling him closer as if Tatsuro were a planet and he the orbiting moon. An eternal dance in which they each thrived from the other - parasite and host, perhaps would have been a more fitting analogy. But who was which was an entirely different discussion befitting of another time.

Even as Tatsuro spread himself out on the bed, Miya knew that before they were done his pale beauty would be flushed with the pink of desire. The cactus on the windowsill seemed to agree, the pale yellow flower blooming from its pad almost appearing to open more at the prospect of Miya's entangled thoughts. Or perhaps it was opening to Tatsuro's own; the very ones which the guitarist fed with his every move on days like this one. His eyes shone with the deviousness of his actions as he swayed toward the other, hips moving in a manner to tell that he was the one in complete control here today, that perhaps he always would be.

Clothing fell from his body like leaves from a tree in Autumn. They were both sunrise and sunset, every action an opposite and yet corresponding in so many ways. The purity of contrast shone in the heavy beam of golden light that lay a path across the vocalist and over the rich brown of his carpet, while Miya stood just outside of the light, shadows playing heavily over his form, the light just out of reach. It all meant so much, or so little, depending on the viewpoint it was taken from. To the pair of them, Miya was certain it meant the same - the depth of their souls calling one another and pulling them through the air, guiding them to the actions the other needed most in each moment.

The seconds ticked by, counted by the motes that flitted through the beam of light that entered the Eastern facing room, their dance foretelling of the one that was just on the verge of occurring. The bed dipped under the added weight as Miya's lithe body mounted it, coming to settle between parted thighs. He surveyed the form beneath him, taking in the way Tatsuro was already needy, eyes begging in the way they refused to meet his own, body needy in the way he shuddered ever so softly. To him, this was beauty; his own personal refuge.

Moving with intent and purpose, he reached for the black straps so carefully held beneath the mattress, and delicately looped the first around Tatsuro's pale wrist. Another came to do the same and then one for each ankle, the straps tightening until his lover could no longer move. The way he was held, his pale body cradled in the pristine white of his sheets, reminded Miya of the entrapment of a fly within a carnivorous plant, tendrils of vines holding it still as the acid ate away at it, turning it into nutrients for the plant. Perhaps Tatsuro was, indeed, the fly. And in the same token, Miya was decidedly the acid that would eat away at the other's delicate form. But all the same, it was not something that either of them did without the full knowledge of consent. Never would that bridge come to be passed, each of them taking great care to ensure that it never was and never would be.

So concentrated on the feelings around him Tatsuro was, that he knew every move before it ever happened. His body gave an easy acceptance of it all, falling to the whim of the other man and taking in the pleasure of each moment as it passed him by. The yellow bloom of the cactus on the windowsill stood fully open and attentive as it whispered to him of the lust that swarmed in the air like insistent gnats. He could clearly hear the lubricant leaving the bottle to surely coat his lover's fingers, just as the first drops of rain spattered the window, tracking down in the fine coat of dirt time had placed there. His eyes gleamed in the light, watching as each drop joined together, forming into one with the next, his own body taking in Miya's as if it were built for it. A quiet gasp mingled with the sounds of the rain as it pattered against the siding of the house.

The quiet creak of the bed slowly settled into rhythm, meeting and flowing with the sounds from outside, their respiration becoming one, each breath as if one were the incoming tide and the other the rush of the tide pulling away. Sweat slicked their bodies, hair clinging like seaweed to pale sand, the sun glistening on every drop, reflecting in unyielding truth. Every flaw, every perfection were revealed by the golden rays, the drops of water clinging to the window casting shadows within the gentle glow - a mingling of who they both were, riding on the breath of Mother Nature.

Movement, more insistent, more driven - the bed's sounds faster, the rumble of thunder outside sharing in the enthusiasm of the moment. Tatsuro's eyes searched the sky, his hands fisting, mouth open to catch the oxygen he so urgently needed. Warmth flooded his body, the quickening pace of his lover above him and the pull of his bonds driving him to that which he needed most. A tensing of his limbs and a quiet cry into the silence of the room gave him away, white exploding before his eyes only to fade away and reveal the forming of a rainbow glistening just behind the clouds beyond the tempered glass of his window.

The last few quiet rocks of the body over his, almost unbearable heat filling him and the single gasp of his name told of Miya's end. A death so quiet that even the plants beyond the glass may have missed it. Arms enfolded him, caressing him as their breathing returned to normal; bodies burning against one another. Miya's eyes followed Tatsuro's to observe, to find nature telling them of her approval. His fingers worked to untangle his lover, free him of the bindings, succeeding in doing so only to have Tatsuro entangle him in his arms. A satisfied smile flitted over his lips as they lay together, watching as the storm ebbed away, having come and gone just as quickly as they had.

Tatsuro's voice slipped out into the silence, filling it with something comforting, almost caressing. "Next time... it should be red."

Miya's lips ghosted over the vocalist's own, tasting and then retreating, a sound of agreement leaving his throat. No more needed to be said between them, each understanding without anything more. The branches of the cherry tree outside swayed, tapping the rooftop gently, providing each with a sense of truth and accomplishment. This... this was what it truly meant to become one.

 **The End**  
* For those that do not know, a red camellia means 'in love'.  



End file.
